“Am I worthy of love?”
I ask myself.
My mind is a garden
With twisty vines and parasitic weeds;
I pull them out and keep what I need.
As I look unto the now empty plot,
Is there room for love?
There’s room for a lot.
My sweat and tears drip into the dirt,
And buds erupt from the foundation of my mind.
Little by little, flowers bloom.
I’ve learned, for love, to always leave room.
Seasons change and so do I,
And I plant new flowers as old ones die.
My tears become rivers that run through my garden,
Continuing growth I’ve already started.
These flowers are not to be picked,
And gifted to others.
They bloom for me,
Not for my mother.
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Author:
notformymother (
Offline) - Published: September 11th, 2022 07:48
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 17
- Users favorite of this poem: darknessandlight
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Comments2
Just wow.... So powerful, so vivid, and just a truly amazing poem.
Thank you very much! You're very kind
You're welcome, I am just being honest. I absolutely loved your poem.
I love this piece its soo moving although can't help but wonder what the last line means
Thank you! My mother was unfortunately my abuser, hope this provides more insight on that last line
Yeah it really does, 😔 sorry
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